Hearts Broken, Hearts Mended
by HiM'e'iTSu
Summary: He, who was throwing around big words claiming that caring was not an advantage was just another sentimental fool. A fool who knew how to lock those feelings away, but a fool nonetheless. One who, like any other, hoped for a happy ending, who got his heart broken and only had himself to blame. Who still dared to dream of his own happily ever after.


**A/N: **Set during The Scandal in Belgravia, the part after the line break – right after. I'd say Mycroft and especially Sherlock are OOC, but, in my mind, Sherlock is actually capable of doing something like this. He cares for his brother and I believe he'd want to help Mycroft, in his own awkward way.

**Beta**: OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles

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_Mycroft Holmes who was throwing around big words claiming that caring was not an advantage was just another sentimental fool. A fool who knew how to lock those feelings away, but a fool nonetheless. One who, like any other, hoped for a happy ending, who got his heart broken and only had himself to blame. One who dared to believe that maybe after all Sherlock would be able to persuade him to make his life a little bit less miserable._

* * *

_**Hearts Broken, Hearts Mended**_

It was calm; the kind of calm that came _after_ the storm and they were left to pick up the pieces. The small room was dark; the only source of light – a fireplace with the fire scarcely a glimmer. Two large armchairs stood facing the fireplace but only one of them was occupied.

Mycroft Holmes was lounging in that chair, his pose not relaxed but defeated; defeated by all the problems he had to solve, all the traces he had to cover up to make sure no one knew who the source of the information leak was. He might be angry with Sherlock but he'd do anything to protect his little brother. The biggest problem was that the only person Sherlock really needed protection from was the consulting detective himself. Mycroft liked to believe that now he had John Watson as his ally on a quest to save his brother from himself.

This though, this dark room and the quiet, was not about his younger brother. And Sherlock did not hesitate to remind him.

"He's getting a divorce, you know." Sherlock said. He wasn't facing his brother, having taken a place at the window, his back to the chair Mycroft was occupying; he was calmly observing the street below.

"Considering it." Mycroft corrected despite himself. More than anything in the world he did not want to have this discussion. He had enough trouble with Sherlock's involvement in the government's business; he did not need his brother dissecting his personal life.

"Oh, so you are aware of his situation."

Mycroft could hear the smirk in his voice. Sherlock, always thinking he's so clever he could read anyone. But here right now he couldn't be any further from the truth.

"You think I should take advantage." Mycroft offered, not a question – a statement to make Sherlock believe he was right.

"I think," there was a slight swish of that ridiculously large coat (a present from Mummy, thus secretly cherished) as the younger man turned away from the window. "That's exactly what you are going to do." He sounded smug. Mycroft frowned. Did his brother learn nothing from his encounter with The Woman? However damaging her influence was, it must have taught him at least something about emotions and actions driven by feelings.

"No, I'm not." Mycroft said simply.

There was a pause and then the sound of footsteps on the soft carpet; Sherlock appeared in his line of vision. The consulting detective hesitated, head turned to observe his older brother, and then took a seat in the other chair. "I don't believe you." There was doubt in his voice, but Mycroft didn't know if that doubt was in Mycroft's words or Sherlock's own?

"Please try to remember that you are the one who initiated this conversation," Mycroft's eyes met Sherlock's and held his gaze. "Which means that I don't care whether you trust my words or not." It was simple and reasonable, no complex puzzle, but then again human feelings always were the biggest mystery to his younger brother.

Sherlock was frowning, hands clasped and positioned on his knee. He leaned forward, gaze cold and merciless as he analyzed every line of Mycroft's face. Mycroft was too tired of games to protect himself from those imploring eyes. This was no secret of government importance, this was his personal life, so what if Sherlock knew a little too much about it? He was family after all. And maybe, as a result, he'd learn something useful about human emotions in the process.

Oh, but who was he fooling? Himself? The Mycroft Holmes who was throwing around big words claiming that caring was not an advantage was just another sentimental fool. A fool who knew how to lock those feelings away, but a fool nonetheless. One who, like any other, hoped for a happy ending, who got his heart broken and only had himself to blame. One who dared to believe that maybe after all Sherlock would be able to persuade him to make his life a little bit less miserable.

"Fine." Sherlock's voice brought him back from his reverie. "You are not planning to take advantage. But you are not going to just sit there and do nothing."

"What would you want me to do?" Mycroft asked just to entertain himself. It was hopeless, his logical mind whispered, but he wanted to hear what his brother had to say. That stupid 'What if' forming in his mind.

"Go to him." Sherlock said as if it was obvious. For him, maybe it was. From his point of view, maybe everything was that simple. "He's getting divorced, he's single again. Available, as people say."

"That doesn't mean…" Mycroft started heatedly but stopped himself in time. _That doesn't mean he'll take me back_. "Anything."

There was silence between them, one that did not last long. "What is the reason for his divorce? Which has not even happened yet," Mycroft asked. His tone was heavy with condescension as he wanted Sherlock to humor him with his deductions.

"His wife is cheating on him with a PE teacher." Sherlock replied without missing a beat. "Which does not mean that he had no input in the deterioration of that relationship."

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. His little brother could be so naïve sometimes.

Sherlock noticed that his tactic seemed to be failing him and took another path. He leaned back in the chair, comfortable and relaxed, and asked. "You still love him, don't you?" That irritating smirk graced his lips and his tone was too smug, but Mycroft resigned himself to answer:

"Yes. Yes, I do." Sherlock just nodded and stayed silent, sure that Mycroft's own words conveyed his meaning the most accurately. "But, again, it does not mean anything."

"You still have your ring." Sherlock retorted. "How can that not be meaningful?"

"It takes two people to build a relationship, Sherlock." Mycroft said haughty.

"And it takes one to destroy it." Sherlock replied angrily. The second the words left his lips he realized what a terrible idea it was, to retort in such a manner. A flash of anger crossed his brother's face, but then it closed up – Mycroft refusing to show his hurt. Nonetheless, he pressed the matter. "He still has _his_ ring."

Mycroft had no answer to that. It was a fact he was not aware of. Once he had promised Gregory that he would not spy on his personal affairs. The DI knew it was useless to ask Mycroft not to get involved into his investigations, but they managed to reach a compromise where Mycroft was allowed to keep an eye on his lover during his working hours but was not, under any circumstances, to spy on Gregory's personal life. That's why it came as such a big a surprise for Mycroft when Gregory proposed to him. Now, years after their marriage had crumbled, Mycroft still kept his promise. This did not mean that he did not receive monthly reports on the affairs of Gregory's new wife.

"You are bluffing."

"I'm not." Sherlock scoffed. He was more amused than insulted by Mycroft's distrust. "He keeps in in the inner pocket of his jacket. I stumbled upon it one time when I was pickpocketing him."

"How many times did I tell you not to do that?" Mycroft asked, irritated. Clearly that was a rhetorical question.

"Don't change the topic."

"I wouldn't if you weren't so annoyingly stupid." Mycroft snapped; this conversation had long ago reached a topic which he wasn't ready to discuss with anyone. "Relationships don't work like that." He added sternly. Just like he used to scold his younger brother when they were little.

"Like what?" Sherlock threw up his hands. "You love him, he loves you. I don't see a problem there."

"Well, I do!" He was shouting. The echo of his words resonated in the followed silence of the small dark room. Years of repressed emotions, the anger, the hurt and remorse, were coming back to the surface, provoked by Sherlock offering him hope for a second chance. Sherlock, who had never cared about emotions and certainly never gave a damn about his brother's personal life, and was now sitting across from him and persuading Mycroft to mend his broken relationship with Gregory Lestrade. He slumped in the chair, back to being defeated and tired. "Why are you even doing this?"

"I…" Sherlock averted his eyes. He looked nervous as his gaze raked around the room as if in the shadows he could find an answer to that question. "That's irrelevant."

So Mycroft was not getting his reasons. At that moment he found it difficult to care.

"Sherlock, please, leave this matter alone." He muttered. "Better yet, tell me how _you_ are doing. How's John and Mrs. Hudson?"

"Fine. We are all fine. All but Lestrade." Of course Sherlock Holmes would never get off his track. Stubborn childish man.

"Sherlock, stop it."

"I may not know much about emotions." The way he said that word made the disdain override his tone of annoyance at admitting that there was an area he was not the best at. "But I can observe. Better than anyone. So when I say Lestrade still loves you I mean it."

"Sherlock," the warning in his tone went ignored.

"I mean that. He still has his wedding ring in his breast pocket, he still acts nice to me even when he looks like he wants to strangle me because I know that he promised you not to do that. He doesn't care that his wife is cheating on him. Yes, he's disappointed that yet another marriage had come to its sad end but that's all. He turns away every time anyone mentions you in his presence. He still never takes an umbrella with him even on a rainy day because he is used to you suddenly showing up. He watches every passing black car with tinted windows with too much intensity." The words were leaving him in one breath, like his usual detached deductions, but this time Mycroft could not pretend that they were not affecting him. Sherlock noticed things and everything he was saying had to be true, but that did not change one small thing. "Should I continue? Because I can go on for hours."

"Sherlock, it doesn't matter." Mycroft said softly. His brother bristled but he interrupted any verbal protest. "To mend a relationship is much more difficult than to mend a broken toy. The fact that two people love each other does not instantly mean that they can be together."

Sherlock regarded him in silence and Mycroft met his gaze dead on, not giving up.

"The fact that Gregory's second marriage is coming to its sad end, as you so eloquently put it, does not make me happy. It does not make me feel better, not in the slightest." To Sherlock's doubtful narrowing eyes, he continued. "I love him. I still do love that man with all my heart," the words felt forced and strained. It was too difficult to keep composed. "And I only wish him happiness, even if it is with another person. The fact that he is _unhappy_ does not make me want to waltz back into his life." Such a lie. While the thought of Gregory having his heart broken again brought nothing but sadness, there was not a moment in his life when Mycroft did not wish to get back together with the man. "I already had my chance…"

He glanced down at his hands clasped in his lap. "If you have nothing else to say, please, leave."

His brother's eyes narrowed in irritation but without another word, Sherlock got to his feet and left. Stormed out, just like always. It was nice to know that there were still some unchangeable things in this world.

The man left but the damage was already done. Sherlock made Mycroft believe that Gregory still loved him. That they still had a chance.

/

Mycroft's eyes followed John Watson out of the café while he still sat at the small table, lost in thought. For a man who said that caring was not an advantage, he cared too much. Thankfully, all this mess was over. At least that's what he preferred to think. John had left, taking what was left of Irene Adler with him, a last reminder that would hopefully help Sherlock to forget. There was nothing else he could do. It was all up to John now.

"Lost in thought?" A deep, slightly raspy voice startled him. Mycroft did not rush to look up, slightly scared that his senses had betrayed him and terrified that they did not and he was getting his hopes up only to have them brutally crushed. "Mycroft?"

An image of Gregory's frowning face came unbidden to his mind. Every feature recreated from memory perfectly to the smallest frown line and the exact shade of his warm brown eyes. Mycroft took a deep breath. "Hello, Gregory." And finally their eyes met.

It was like a breath of fresh air, looking in that face he loved so much and not seeing hurt and anger painted all over it. Gregory looked calm and slightly curious.

"Hello," the DI replied. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Not at all."

Strangely there was no awkwardness, no tension between them. Maybe because already two years had passed since they went their separate ways, or maybe because they were both too tired to be angry at that moment. Or maybe, and this was the option he voted for, the feeling that caused their divorce had dulled, leaving only the best memories and impressions of their marriage.

"So what were you thinking so hard about?" Gregory asked.

"My brother," Mycroft admitted. Telling Gregory the truth always came so naturally and brought a relief he longed for.

"John said his last case affected him greatly," Gregory offered as a possible conversation starter. He left it for Mycroft to decide if he wanted to talk about it or not. "Though I don't know much."

"Most of the case is a government-protected secret." Mycroft explained with a note of apology. "But the bottom line is right – it did have a certain effect on my brother."

"Bad one?" Gregory frowned, worried.

Mycroft hesitated with his answer. His immediate response was "Yes, yes bad." But after a brief consideration he added. "It might be a lesson to him though."

"One you'd have preferred he did not have to experience."

"True." Mycroft smiled slightly. Gregory always knew him so well. Talking to him made Mycroft feel better.

They stayed silent as a waitress approached their table and, even though originally Mycroft wasn't planning on staying here for longer than necessary, he ordered a cup of tea. He lifted an eyebrow at Gregory's order, coffee and a piece of chocolate cake, but did not comment on it.

They got so comfortable with each other that Mycroft finally dared to ask, "How have you been?"

"Fine, I guess…"

Involuntarily Mycroft's eyes darted to his hands clasped on the table, noticing the lack of a wedding ring. Gregory caught his gaze and Mycroft averted his eyes quickly. "Yeah, divorced." The DI confirmed. With bitterness he added. "Again."

"I'm sorry to hear that." It was true. This feeling was beyond Sherlock's understanding. His logic dictated that Mycroft should be happy that the person he loved was single again. But Mycroft wasn't. Just as he tried to explain to his brother months prior, he loved Gregory with all his heart and he wished the man happiness even with another person. Their marriage did not work out because Mycroft put his work above all and so he wished that in his second marriage Gregory would be with a person who'd appreciate their time with him, since he was too young and stupid to do so. At that time Mycroft was on his way upwards in his career and had his priorities wrong. He knew his mistakes now – having been analyzing them for years, regretting his decisions.

Gregory was lost in the world of his own thoughts and they were distracted only when the waitress returned with their order. Immediately the DI moved the plate with chocolate cake to the middle of the table, handing Mycroft a small fork. Mycroft eyed the piece of silverware with suspicion.

"Come on, take it." Gregory waved the fork a little, invitingly, so Mycroft finally snatched the fork and took a small bite of the cake. The chocolate melted on his tongue, sweet and tender. He sighed in pleasure. Oh yes, Gregory knew him better than anyone; knew that chocolate lifted his mood.

"Thank you." Mycroft smiled sincerely.

Gregory's answering smile was a soothing medicine to his tired soul. For the first time in this terrible year he felt truly well. "Just what you needed, huh?"

"Without a doubt."

"So how about you?" Gregory asked after he took a sip of his coffee.

Mycroft, busy devouring the chocolate cake lifted an eyebrow in question.

The DI fidgeted, looked away and then back again. "Are you dating anyone?"

"No."

"Oh…"

Their eyes met, awkward and uncertain again.

"How about…" Gregory started but stopped, his rough voice falling an octave. "How about a date?"

Even though Mycroft had been expecting that, having read the question in his ex-husband's body language already, even though he was hoping for it, the invitation took him by surprise. He realized that his silence had stretched for too long when Gregory's worried frown turned uncertain and hurt. He hastened to wipe that look off the other man's face.

"I'd love to."

They shared a tender smile.

A sudden idea came to Mycroft's mind and he couldn't resist a question. "Have you by any chance spoken to Sherlock lately?"

Gregory's eyes lit up with understanding and he nodded.

"Oh well, maybe he's not completely useless after all." That was, of course, very far from what Mycroft was actually thinking, but his dignity wouldn't stand a blow of admitting his gratitude.

His smile grew; Gregory's answering grin warmed his heart. That's right; Gregory always was the courageous one. He first approached Mycroft all those years ago; he was the one to propose. He was the one who suggested they should get divorced…

Mycroft suppressed the bad memories. They'd make new ones. Good. Better. Mycroft would not make the same mistakes again. He'd appreciate the man, love and cherish him.

They'd be happy again.


End file.
